


before too late

by onakissgodknows



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Chicago Cubs, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 10:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onakissgodknows/pseuds/onakissgodknows
Summary: “Two walks. Two walks, Willy. It’s not – "“Not enough.”





	before too late

**Author's Note:**

> I took Spanish for two years in high school. All of the Spanish in this fic is based off what I remember from that, and Google Translate. Any mistakes are mine and I apologize for them! I left it untranslated because I felt that the meaning comes across regardless.

_First half_

It starts in New York.

They execute it perfectly – Willson bluffs off first like he’s about to steal, and he draws the throw. Javy darts home from third and the Cubs are on the board after six scoreless innings. Javy being Javy.

They win, again, it’s a four-game sweep and Javy’s been at the center of the whole thing. They fly home on a high and it’s still rushing through Willson’s veins when they’re back in Chicago in Javy’s apartment.

He doesn’t remember talking about it, just knows all of a sudden he’s undoing Javy’s belt and pressing him into the mattress and Javy arches his back with a whispered “ _yes_.”

Willson slings his forearm across Javy’s hips to pin them down while he sucks him off. He’s fascinated by the muscles working in Javy’s thighs and stomach as he strains against Willson’s weight, but Willson keeps him down.

Javy comes in Willson’s mouth, making a punched-out noise like he’s surprised by it, and Willson swallows then jerks himself off. He comes on Javy’s stomach and Javy gives him a look like he’s annoyed but then collapses back on the bed and Willson knows he doesn’t care that much.

They sleep like that, exhausted after the road trip, and shower in the morning.

It starts in New York, and it doesn’t stop. Javy’s putting together an incredible season and Willson – what can Willson do but watch, amazed? Javy steals home again at Wrigley when everyone knows he’s going to do it, the opposing pitcher and catcher have read the scouting report, have to have prepared for this, but Javy does it anyway because he’s unstoppable, and Willson can hardly keep his hands off him after the game.

It’s around then that Willson realizes Javy could be MVP this year. He’s been the MVP of the team so far, that’s for sure, with Bryant hurt and Rizzo slumping and Willson spending every fifth day chasing wild pitches to the backstop.

Javy laughs at him for crying when they’re both named starters in the All-Star Game. “ _Idiota_ ,” Javy chastises him playfully. “You happy or what? Quit cryin’.”

Willson shoves him gently and scrubs his hand across his eyes. “I’m not _crying_.”

They’re coming off a win on a day they fly across the country for the next series, and as soon as they’re in their hotel in San Francisco, Javy pulls Willson into his room, throws him onto the bed, and rides him until they both come. Javy’s as graceful here as he is on the field, rolling his hips into Willson’s as the light filtering through the sheer curtains casts shadows across his skin, his hand wrapped around his own cock while he rides Willson’s.

After, Javy’s on his back next to Willson, eyes closed and chest heaving, and he’s beautiful.

Javy cracks an eye open and sees Willson looking at him. He stretches, arching his back, and bashfully throws his arms over his face. “ _¿Que pasa?_ ”

Willson shakes his head. “ _Nada. Eres guapo_.”

“Full of shit,” Javy quips, and hits him with a pillow. Willson laughs and gently winds a hand into Javy’s soft curls, tugs him in for a kiss.

They’re flying, the two of them.

The next week, Javy leads off the All-Star Game with a hit, and Willson homers later on to put the National League on the board. It doesn’t get better than this.

The NL loses, but – who cares. Who cares. Willson likes winning, but the All-Star Game doesn’t matter and what feels so much more real is Javy leaning against his hotel room door, smirking at him.

Javy tilts his chin up, almost defiant, like he’s challenging him. “Tired?”

“Not if you’re not.” Willson crosses his arms across his chest.

Javy’s grin widens. “Good.”

There’s no way Javy isn’t tired, but he’s not showing it the way he pushes Willson back to the bed. Javy’s so lean it’s easy to forget how strong he is, but he was in the Home Run Derby for a reason.

Javy pushes Willson onto his back and shoves his shirt up to bare his stomach. Willson yanks it off the rest of the way and pulls Javy down to kiss him. Javy’s mouth is hot and wet and he’s so eager for him that Willson can’t help bucking his hips against him.

Javy laughs.

Their clothes don’t stay on much longer. Javy wants everything at once and Willson would give it to him if he could, but he only has two hands and it’s obviously not enough. Still, he can try.

They go back and forth, pushing and pulling at each other, kissing, biting, grinding, until Willson has Javy pinned on his back with his wrists in one of Willson’s hands. Javy lets out a soft “ _ah_ ” as Willson sucks a mark on his neck, but instead of shoving him off, he just tilts his head to the side, giving Willson easier access.

“Want you,” Javy says, blinking up at him with dark eyes when Willson sits back to admire the bruise he’s left on Javy’s skin. He’s hard, dick leaking onto his stomach and he’s straining just a little bit against Willson’s weight, and yes, Willson likes this, could get used to it, wants to make Javy feel this good all the time –

“Come on,” Javy says irritably, now struggling a little more fiercely. “Or you want me to ride you again?”

Willson grins. “Nah. Like you like this.”

Javy smirks back, more breathless and less full of himself than he looked before. “You would. Fuck me.”

There’s lube in Javy’s suitcase, because of course there is, and Willson doesn’t waste any time starting to open him up. Javy spreads his legs and throws his head back as Willson works his fingers into him. He’s not satisfied with two, he’s whining and wanting more before any time at all, so Willson adds a third finger and watches Javy squirm.

“Good?” Willson asks, teasing a little, and Javy groans; whether it’s pleasure or frustration isn’t clear.

“Need you now.” Javy reaches down and grabs at Willson’s dick, and Willson swallows a moan. “You need it too,” he adds breathlessly with a mischievous grin.

Javy’s still tight when Willson pushes into him, should have taken his time more but if Javy _needs_ it. It doesn’t seem like it bothers Javy anyway, the way he wraps his legs around Willson’s waist and tightens them, forcing him deeper. Somehow, even though Willson’s on top, Javy still sets the pace.

It seems right.

He goes slow at first, letting Javy feel every inch of each stroke, and Javy squeezes his eyes shut, mouth falling open. Willson leans in and bites at Javy’s lip; Javy lets out a sharp laugh and kisses back.

Willson wraps his hand around Javy’s cock and Javy bites back a noise, eyes flying open. Willson stills his hand for a moment, waiting, but Javy’s mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk, as sure of himself as when he hits a home run and he drops the bat and watches it go.

The look on Javy’s face is always – _always_ – the best part of this.

“Next year,” Willson says in his ear as he thrusts a little harder and makes him groan, “you try and hit one as far as I did, in the All-Star Game.”

Javy drags his nails gently down Willson’s back and Willson arches his back, wishing he’d do it again, harder, leave scratches down his spine. “Am I not good enough for you until I do?” Javy asks playfully.

“You’re always good enough.”

“Fuck yeah.” Javy surges up and kisses Willson, shoving his tongue deep in his mouth and rolling his hips, trying to fuck himself on Willson’s cock. “ _Willy_ ,” Javy says when they stop for breath, and it’s as close as Javy gets to begging.

Willson shoves him back against the mattress and gives him what he wants. Javy’s arrogant smirk melts away to pleasure and for a few minutes it’s just the two of them. Nothing else exists.

 

_Second half_

It doesn’t stay like that.

After the All-Star Break, it’s a slog. Willson can’t hit, and then he’s pressing and swinging at pitches he shouldn’t swing at – and there’s the moment he hits what he thinks is a home run, drops his bat and watches, and the Wrigley Field wind catches it and knocks the ball down and it’s a double. Barely a double.

Javy gives him a look when he’s back in the dugout – it’s fleeting, but the disappointment is clear in his eyes.

Willson goes home with him after the game anyway and fucks him anyway and makes Javy come because Javy’s still Javy even if the rest of the team has forgotten who they are.

It kind of feels wrong with Willson playing so badly, but if he can’t pull his weight on the field, maybe this is the least he can do.

Javy’s eyes glitter in the dark after. “It’s late,” he says.

Willson’s already on his feet, getting dressed. “Do you want me to go?”

“I – “ Javy hesitates, and Willson reaches for the light switch, so he can see Javy’s face. Javy’s sitting up in bed, the blankets bunched around his waist, and he shrugs. “Only if you want to.”

Willson pauses midway through zipping his sweatshirt. “Do you – should I stay?”

“You usually do,” Javy says, guarded.

He does, but – he shouldn’t, not tonight. There are only two weeks left of the regular season and there’s so much work to do. He can’t afford to keep playing like this if they intend on making the postseason.

Javy’s right. If they aren’t careful, it’ll be too late.   

“I don’t know, Javy,” Willson says.

Javy frowns. “Well,” he says, a little sourly, “you can go if you want to.” He flops back onto the mattress, drawing the covers up around him.

Willson doesn’t really know what Javy wants him to do, doesn’t know what he wants to do himself. “Javy?” he says cautiously.

“You know where the door is.” Javy’s sullen voice is muffled by the blankets.

Willson leaves.

The next two weeks feel like they’re all grasping at something just out of reach. They win some – plenty, even, they go 8-5 over the final two weeks of the season, but the Brewers are just barely better, just barely beat them in Game 163, and the same thing happens in the Wild Card game. Their chances are there, they just slip through their fingers. They don’t play well enough. Just aren’t good enough, not this year.

Willson has never experienced his season ending this early. He doesn’t like it.

Javy has been distant over the past couple of weeks, but most people have been. They’ve been trying to regain focus, and anyway, Willson thinks he upset Javy that last night.

Still, Javy approaches him in the clubhouse after, and hugs him tight. “You okay?”

“Sure,” Willson says, even though he isn’t.

Javy knows he’s lying. He brushes his knuckles down Willson’s jawline. “Come over.”

“You sure?”

“ _Por supuesto, idiota_.” Javy sighs. “Let’s get out of here.”

Willson feels like he’s cried all he can by the time they get back to Javy’s apartment, but he slings his duffel bag on the floor and thinks about how they should be on a bus to Milwaukee and his chest heaves.

Or maybe it’s his stomach. It’s been hours since he ate and he’s had nothing but water since and he feels like he might vomit all over Javy’s kitchen floor.

Either way, he feels like death. He didn’t know it would feel this bad.

Javy puts his arm around his shoulders and gives him a little shake as he steers him into the bedroom. “Two walks. Two walks, Willy. It’s not – “

“Not enough,” Willson says. He pushes Javy’s arm off as they enter the room and kicks the door shut behind him. His throat hurts and there are tears welling up in his eyes and he can’t stop replaying it in his head – just a single and a single and another single and that’s enough to beat you, that’s enough that Hendricks is standing defeated on the mound in the thirteenth and then another team’s celebrating on _your_ field, drinking champagne in _your_ ballpark and waving _their_ jerseys at their fans who made the trip across the country to be there for _their_ victory.

“Not enough – like I did enough?”

“Tied it.” Willson wipes his eyes. He can’t bring himself to formulate full sentences but it’s true. Javy tied the game with a double in the – what, the seventh? They should have scored more. Should have walked it off and given Wrigley Field something to cheer about.

“Come on, man, don’t do this to yourself. We fucking lost. It’s everybody’s fault or it’s nobody’s.”

Maybe Willson’s pitch selection was bad. He shouldn’t have asked Kyle for that pitch, should have hoped Wolters would chase out of the zone. There are a lot of ways to cut this so it’s Willson’s fault.

Willson’s thighs are fucking burning from catching every inning of a nearly five-hour game. He doesn’t care. He ignores it, drops to his knees in front of Javy – doesn’t matter anyway, they’re done playing, Willson can fuck up his legs all he wants as long as he’s ready for spring.

Javy’s wearing a pair of loose black shorts and Willson reaches for the waistband.

Javy steps away. “ _¿Qué estás haciendo?_ ”

“ _Por favor_ , Javy.”

“ _No quieres_ – “

“I do too, I’ll feel better, I just wanna – “ God, he is crying again now and he sits back on his heels and looks at the floor, trying to hide his tears from Javy.

Javy the second baseman, Javy the shortstop. Javy the All-Star, Javy the MVP. He should have had that chance, but he won’t, and the guy whose team goes deeper in the postseason will win it, and it shouldn’t matter but it _does_.

Willson feels rather than sees Javy sit down on the floor next to him and he hears Javy sigh as he kicks off his shoes. “Won’t make you feel better. You’ll stop thinkin’ about it but not forever.”

“I don’t wanna think about it,” Willson says stubbornly. He’d rather have Javy’s dick in his mouth, concentrating on making it good for Javy, concentrating on not gagging, than thinking about every stupid thing he did in that game that he could have done differently. Just given them a chance to win.

Javy curls a hand around the back of Willson’s neck and Willson looks at him for the first time since they got home, really. His mouth is twisted into a frown and he looks tired. However, he’s still so unmistakably _himself_. There’s comfort in that, the streaks of eye black still on his face because he didn’t bother to wash it off, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his curly hair wild in a halo around his head. “Nobody’s gonna blame you, Willy.”

He knows Javy is right, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be blamed. They’re just not the kind of team to point fingers at each other.

“C’mere.” Javy tightens his grip on the back of Willson’s neck and tugs him in so Willson can bury his face against his shoulder. He figures they look kind of dumb, sitting there hugging on the floor when the bed is right there, but nobody’s going to see them, so – who cares. Who cares.

Javy hugging him makes Willson feel even more like he’s going to fall apart and he chokes out a sob. Javy pulls him closer, gets both his arms around him and kisses his forehead. “You can cry,” Javy offers, which is good since Willson already is, but Javy saying it is all he needs to really let go.

It’s – relief. It’s a release of all the negative energy that’s been building up in Willson for weeks, the entire second half, really. He’s sucked. He hasn’t helped the team. He can’t hit worth a damn and he can’t even call a game right. He’s – he’s needed to cry.

He thinks maybe when he’s done he’s going to feel like a new person.

“ _Está bien. Te amo. Te amo, Willy_.”

Javy’s never said it before, though Willson thinks he’s known for awhile. At the same time – “ _¿En serio?_ ”

“ _Sí, cabrón_.”

The insult makes Willson laugh through his tears. “ _Yo también_. _Te amo_.”

“ _Lo sé_.”

Willson pulls away, sniffling and wiping away tears. Javy smiles at him, and rubs his thumb over his the tear tracks on his cheeks. “ _Eres un desastre_ ,” Javy says.

Willson laughs again. “Yeah.” They both are, really. Both of them are used to the postseason carrying them into the NLCS or further, and to have it end here, tonight, in five hours, thirteen innings, and three runs between two teams – neither of them know what to do.

He’s glad he’s here, at least. He’d rather be here with Javy than be alone.

That’s the mantra of this season, isn’t it? Every moment he’s spent with Javy, every night he’s spent tangled in Javy’s sheets, every moment they’ve stolen after games before hustling to get on a plane… Aren’t they all because he’d rather be with Javy than spend that time alone? He figures Javy must feel the same way. He’s gone out of his way to be with Willson this year just as much as Willson’s gone out of his way to be with him.

Willson’s stopped crying. The tears have dried on his face, leaving behind streaks of salt. Willson rubs at them. “Sure you don’t want me to suck you off, though?”

Javy laughs. “Well, I mean – yeah, I always want that but, not tonight, okay?” He stands up and offers a hand to Willson, who gratefully lets Javy pull him to his feet. “You gotta get some rest.”

“Got a whole offseason to rest,” Willson grumbles, but he lets Javy take his shirt off and nudge him toward the bathroom.

They brush their teeth together, crowded around the bathroom sink, and Willson hip-checks Javy to shove him out of the way so he can spit, and Javy shoves him back and laughs.

Willson doesn’t think he’s going to sleep that easily, but Javy’s bed is soft and comfortable, and Javy tastes like spearmint when he kisses him. Javy curls close enough to him that Willson can feel his breath on his chest and he shifts aside, just to give him more space; Javy looks up at him through long lashes and edges closer.

Willson puts his arm around him and Javy sighs.

“ _Gracias_ , Javy.”

Javy shakes his head. “ _De nada_. I’m glad you’re here.”

Willson thinks maybe he could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know what pitch Kyle Hendricks threw to Tony Wolters during the Wild Card game that led to the winning run, and I never will, because I turned it off long before Kyle came into the game and I am very stubborn and sad about baseball. Sorry if this is subpar, I just have a lot of feelings.
> 
> [writeblr](https://on-a-kiss-god-knows.tumblr.com/).


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